


Fair Scones (Who Comes For The Rides Anyway?)

by VanillaIcing



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, Food Kink, M/M, Stuffing, i'm sorry mom, stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaIcing/pseuds/VanillaIcing
Summary: "You like fair food?" he asks, and Patrick knows just by the almost unnoticeable shift in Pete's tone exactly what's going on.His eyebrow raises further, and he tries not to react too strongly as he responds slowly and carefully, "Been a while since we've pulled this, hasn't it?"





	Fair Scones (Who Comes For The Rides Anyway?)

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT FUCKERS, I HATE THE PHRASE "DONT LIKE DONT READ", BUT IT APPLIES HERE. THIS SHIT IS A STUFFING KINK FIC. DONT LIKE, DONT FUCKING READ. 
> 
> We good? Cool. 
> 
> I'm Vanilla (but I ain't vanilla if you know what I mean wink wink nudge nudge kill me now), and this is my account for this weird shit that I am, for some reason, into. Oh boy. 
> 
> If you also like FOB and this weird shit, then follow the blog me and my friend/partner in crime/psychically connected sin buddy, Chocolate, and I run together: @stuffedfob on Tumblr. 
> 
> Welcome to hell, kids. You all get complimentary fair scones.

Patrick can't exactly say he hates the fair—hate is too strong a word. And it's certainly improved slightly by his boyfriends' childlike enthusiasm at all the colorful rides and increasingly rigged fair games. Actually, at the same time it's made a bit worse by their equally childlike fights over which rides to go on and who really deserved to win that stupid fucking horse-racing game. So, really, it just balances out back to "mild dislike". 

Something's up this time, though. Patrick's trying to decode it from his exile in the back seat of the car, watching Pete and Joe exchange weird looks in the front seats for the entire drive. He just can't put his finger on it, though, as much as he feels like he should know what's going on. 

He isn't in the dark for long, though, because the second they've parked—a good seven minute walk from the actual fairgrounds, because the streets are so parked up and none of them wanted to hand over the five bucks to park on someone's lawn—Pete whips around and deadpans, "Alright, here's the deal."

He doesn't explain the actual deal, obviously waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from Patrick. When he waits for twenty seconds and gets no response but for a skeptically raised eyebrow, he continues anyway. 

"You like fair food?" he asks, and Patrick knows just by the almost unnoticeable shift in Pete's tone exactly what's going on. 

His eyebrow raises further, and he tries not to react too strongly as he responds slowly and carefully, "Been a while since we've pulled this, hasn't it?"

"Don't act like you haven't missed it," Joe pipes up from the passenger seat, laughing as Patrick flips him off. He adds, "But, in all seriousness, you cool with it?"

"Absolutely," Patrick answers immediately. He may play the reluctant bit to high heaven, but at the end of the day he knows he'll always be into this. "What exactly are we doing?"

Pete grins, and Patrick knows it was the right answer, and the right question. "You're gonna eat whatever we hand to you. Only ask to stop if you genuinely need to—no easy cop outs. But if you do need to, absolutely do, because—"

"I know, Pete, you pull this spiel every time." Patrick has to force himself to remain serious and hold back an eye roll. "I'll tell you if I really need to stop. Okay?"

"Okay," Pete says hesitantly, then pushes open the door and climbs out. Joe and Patrick follow suit. 

The walk to the fairgrounds is mostly silent, but luckily it's not as awkward as Patrick thinks it could be. Besides, he knows how this goes every time—they're all going to mope around and pretend they regret this for the first five minutes, and then they'll all simultaneously give up on that and just enjoy it. And, hell, the awkward first five minutes are always worth it. 

Patrick stands back as Pete gets busy paying for tickets, and pretends he doesn't notice the looks Pete and Joe keep sneaking back in his direction. He wonders if they'll ever stop playing it up like they're nervous about this every time they do it. Chances are they won't. 

Pete hands Patrick and Joe a ticket each and they head in through the fair gates, stepping into an overcrowded world of impossible games and rides with overly long lines. But the games and rides aren't the attractions of choice this time, and Patrick knows it. 

He doesn't ask what they're doing first, because he's resigned to letting Pete and Joe take their damn time rather than trying to force them to start. This is for them as much as, if not more than, it's for him. And if they want to take their damn time, they can take their damn time. 

But they don't this time, actually. Pete has his hand in Patrick's and is pulling him along within ten seconds of entering the grounds. Patrick isn't sure where they're going until they're standing in line for a place with bright signs proudly advertising their quarter-pound burgers. 

"Diving right in, are we?" Patrick asks, watching with thinly veiled interest as one of the workers in the stand hands a burger that must be at least six inches across to a smiling woman waiting at the counter, and pretending as best he can—which isn't very well—that he isn't excited. 

"As if you have a problem with it," Joe says under his breath, and wow, Patrick can't argue with that. 

The line is long, and there's a good five minute wait before they can order. When they do, Patrick steps back—he's not the one ordering. He knows how much or little he's getting isn't his choice.

Joe takes the initiative and orders two of the burgers and a large order of fries. Patrick isn't quite sure how much of that is for him, but he's pretty sure it's not all of it, because he's expecting to visit nearly every stand here today—his boyfriends never disappoint. They'd never go all out at one place in this situation. 

And he's proven right. When the food comes, Pete pushes one of the burgers and the fries into Patrick's hand and keeps the other one. 

"You guys splitting that one?" Patrick asks, nodding towards the other burger. 

"Yeah," Joe says, grabbing a knife from the table of utensils and sauces outside the food stand as they walk over to some tables to sit down. 

Joe gets to work cutting his and Pete's burger in half, then reconsiders the massive entree and cuts it into quarters. 

"Couldn't pick that thing up even in halves," he mutters, shaking his head. 

Patrick regards his own enormous meal and decides to cut it up as well, reaching a hand out and taking the plastic knife from Joe. He imitates the quarters that Joe had cut into his and Pete's burger and starts on the first part immediately. 

"All the fries, too?" Patrick asks as he swallows the first bite, eyeing the huge block of fries—almost as big as the burger itself—skeptically. 

"I think you can handle it," Pete says in a tone that Patrick is a little scared to label, and that's answer enough. 

"Alright." Patrick decides starting on those too now is a good plan, and snatches a couple of greasy curly fries off the top of the pile, swallowing those and following it with another bite of his burger. He pretends he doesn't notice how intently he's being watched—this is partially for show, and he's used to it by now. Finds it sort of hot, if he's being honest. 

He's demolished three quarters of the burger and half the fries before Pete and Joe are even halfway through their own, much smaller portions. The burger and fries alone could be enough for a full meal on any other day, but this isn't any other day—there's going to be more, much more, and Patrick would be lying if he said the thought wasn't exciting. 

Pete and Joe still aren't finished when Patrick swallows the last grease-dripping fry and asks, "What's next?"

Joe snorts, taking a small bite from his own food. "Damn, Patrick, you're a fucking overachiever sometimes, you know that?"

"Yeah, and I know you love it," Patrick responds, leaning in and propping his head up on one hand. He knows that technically he's just eaten a _lot_ , but years of this has built up some kind of stamina—he can go a lot longer and he knows it. And he knows Pete and Joe know it too. 

"One minute, geez." Pete laughs and finishes his own food. Joe follows in the next minute. Patrick knows instinctively that although they'll be visiting tons more places throughout the fair, Pete and Joe aren't getting anything else. It'll all be for Patrick. 

He can't fucking wait. 

Finally, _finally_ , they get up from the table and head off. Patrick follows Pete and Joe, eyes flicking across all the stores and stands they pass, wondering which one is next. 

The answer comes in the form of another generic stand selling greasy food. Patrick isn't sure what he's going to have from here yet—probably not another burger, he knows there's gotta be some variety here—but whatever it is, he's ready for it. 

The answer, as it turns out, is a corndog. Pete orders and accepts the food from the lady at the counter, then turns and presses it into Patrick's hands. 

"Eat as we walk. We're heading somewhere else, and that isn't even that much," Pete says bluntly, already moving in a different direction. 

Patrick obeys, biting off a chunk of hot dog, breading, and grease, and walking after Pete. He couldn't not do this even if he didn't want to—this game has one rule, and it's that he eats what he's told to, when he's told to. He isn't about to go against that. Besides, he has no reason to. He wants to do this—he _definitely_ wants to do this. 

Patrick has more than enough time to get through all of the corndog, which is relatively small anyway. It seems their next stop is almost all the way across the fair, and by the time they step through the doors of the large food court, Patrick is long finished. He tosses the cleaned stick that the corndog had sat on carelessly into a trash can near the entry and trails after his boyfriends to wherever they're going next. 

It's another basic fast food stand, and Patrick is unsure what new thing he could even get from this place, but he finds out when Joe walks up to the counter and orders a chili dog. 

Patrick takes the food once it's served, eyeing what's truthfully a ridiculously large hot dog slathered in dripping hot chili. He looks up and says, "Tell me I don't have to eat this while walking."

"Don't worry. We'll sit for this one," Pete tells him, gesturing towards a nearby table. Patrick gratefully takes a seat, and Pete and Joe take one on either side of him. 

Patrick shoves a bite of chili dog into his mouth, trying to ignore the warm chili dripping down his chin and falling into his lap. This might be his favorite thing he's had to eat so far—for junky fair food, is surprisingly good. He'd be happy to just end with this. But he knows that's not going to happen—he knows he hasn't had nearly enough yet. Not even close. 

Halfway through the chili dog, Pete leans into Patrick's ear and whispers smugly, "Fuck, babe, you're doing so good." Patrick nearly chokes on the food, going red as a woman sitting across from them casts a weird look in their direction. Patrick forces himself to swallow the bite and keep going—god knows thinking too hard about how strange this must look to everyone else isn't getting him anywhere. 

By the time he finishes this one, Patrick has started to slow down—only minimally, but he has. He knows he could probably go through all that again if he really tried, but from here on out it's gonna get a bit harder. And fuck if that thought isn't appealing to him. 

Joe is the one to pull him to his feet this time and begin to lead him off in a different direction. He wraps an arm around Patrick's shoulders and pushes him on as Pete catches up and falls in step with them. 

"Ready for dessert?" Joe mutters into Patrick's ear, and damn, Patrick wouldn't have thought that particular question could ever sound so fucking hot, but here they are. He nods, trying to act like he isn't breathless and dying of anticipation. 

"What is it?" he asks, knowing he'll find out soon enough anyway, but still wanting to know what to expect. 

"A few things," Pete pipes up, pressing his body against Patrick's and wrapping his own arm around Patrick, but this time he seems to purposefully go for Patrick's midsection, practically pushing his hand into Patrick's stomach. For the first time, Patrick is prompted to look down. 

His eyes go wide, and then his cheeks go red as he notices Pete and Joe noticing him noticing exactly how much he's already eaten. Last time he checked, this t-shirt was supposed to be loose on him, but now it's pressed against his skin—not quite to the point of discomfort, but Patrick knows it will get there, and he knows it will get there soon. And he's ready for it. 

"Can't go to the fair without eating some kind of deep fried bullshit, can you?" Pete asks, and Patrick looks up, realizing with a start that they've arrived at wherever they're going. The stand in front of them does, indeed, have plenty of deep fried bullshit—and Patrick isn't sure how much of it he's going to have to have. 

He waits as Pete goes up and orders this time, returning with a container of something Patrick can't identify—deep fried something, for sure, judging by the golden, doughy crust, but Patrick can't discern what could be inside. 

"What is it?" he asks, lifting one from the basket skeptically. 

"Just try it," Joe encourages, and Patrick knows he can't possibly say no to that. 

He considers taking a small bite to test it out, but if he does that it'll just take forever to finish. He shoves one into his mouth all at once, receiving gratification in the form of a gasp from Joe as he chews the fairly large treat slowly. 

"Oreo," he identifies after he's swallowed it. "It's good."

"Well, I hope so, because you've got quite a few left," Pete comments, raising an eyebrow and pointing to the eight or so Oreos remaining in the container. 

Patrick tackles them one at a time, giving up on taking small bites and simply shoving them into his mouth in one piece instead. He wonders again how this must look to the innocent bystander—seeing him standing here shoving deep fried cookies into his mouth while his boyfriends watch him with badly hidden interest. Then he realizes that train of thought is pointless, and stops wondering. 

He finishes more slowly than he would've liked, the last couple cookies becoming difficult to force past his lips, and then tosses the container the treats had come in, looking to his boyfriends expectantly. 

"That's not it, is it?" he asks almost hopefully, because this wasn't nearly enough, there's surely more. Yes, he'd been struggling to finish the cookies, but that isn't a sign he should stop—not in the least. He knows his limits, and this isn't it. 

And there's more, naturally. "Of course that isn't it," Joe says. "Only Oreos for dessert? We're not _that_ terrible."

Patrick chuckles. "I beg to differ."

Joe gives him an amused eye roll and takes him by the arm, leading him somewhere else. Patrick lets him without complaint. 

The next stop isn't too far away—a small shop selling piles upon piles of fudge. Patrick had known, even from a distance, that this was where they were going next. Fudge is just to good an opportunity to pass up. 

Pete orders again this time, coming back with a huge slab of dark brown fudge. 

"Dark chocolate hazelnut," Pete says, smirking as Patrick takes the dessert from his hands. "Your favorite, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Patrick breathes out, staring down at the fudge. "Shit, I don't know if I can..."

Pete frowns, vague worry on his face, which he makes an attempt to downplay by saying, "Uh, I'm pretty sure you can."

"No, no, I can eat it, I can definitely eat it," Patrick assures him truthfully. He continues to stare at the sugary treat, trying to word his concern properly. "I just don't know if I can—fuck—"

Luckily, Pete understands this time. He pushes Patrick gently towards Joe and tells Joe, "Find someplace private. I'll get just a couple more things."

Joe nods, taking Patrick into his arms, and leads his boyfriend, who's still cradling the fudge like it's a small child, away to find somewhere secluded. 

It seems impossible that such an overcrowded fairground could contain any space even close to private, but miraculously this one does. Hidden among the back ends of two funhouses and the fence bordering the fair is a single wooden picnic table, which Joe leads Patrick to and sits him down at. Joe then slowly takes the fudge out of Patrick's hands and murmurs, "Calm down, babe, I got this." 

Patrick does calm down, laying back against the table part of the picnic bench and letting Joe break off small bits of rich chocolatey fudge and push them into Patrick's mouth. This is, if he's honest, which he tries to be, Patrick's favorite part—when he can't force the food down anymore himself, so he has to let someone else take over. He couldn't explain why if he wanted to, but he loves this—and really, he doesn't think he needs an explanation anyway. 

They're almost through the fudge when Pete finds them, emerging between the small gap that leads to the hidden area they've found to find Patrick leaning into Joe's side, letting Joe press the sugary fudge bits into his mouth as Joe's other hand cards through his hair. Pete is clutching something new in each hand, and rushes forward, coming to sit on Patrick's other side. 

"Holy shit, Patrick, I didn't even realize we gave you that much," he mutters, unable to pretend he isn't staring in awe at the curve of Patrick's stomach, which is definitely reaching the realm of uncomfortably pushing against his shirt now. Patrick is starting to find it hard to imagine that this shirt was ever loose. 

"What do you have?" Patrick asks blearily, nodding his head towards the items held in each of Pete's hands. Immediately after, he turns his head back to Joe and lets his younger boyfriend feed him the last piece of fudge, swallowing the soft chocolate and failing to hold back a quiet moan. 

Pete, briefly stunned into silence, suddenly remembers to answer the question. "Oh. Elephant ear and a scone. Is that—"

"Yes," Patrick cuts him off. Of course that's okay. It's barely anything compared to what he's already had, and besides, he can definitely handle more. He definitely _wants_ to handle more. 

"Alright." Without another word, Patrick finds himself being fed a torn away strip of buttery elephant ear dough, loaded down with so much cinnamon sugar that it crunches audibly when Patrick chews it. He swallows this and lets Pete offer another strip, both ignoring and enjoying the warm butter dripping down his chin. 

At some point Pete must have handed the bag containing the scone to Joe, because suddenly Patrick finds the warm strips of dough being interspersed with bits of jelly-filled scone. He happily lets his boyfriends take turns pushing pieces of food into his mouth and whispering in his ear about how he's _doing so good, holy shit, babe, you're doing amazing_ as he lays in their arms, back pressing into the slightly damp wood of the table. He would be ashamed to admit how much he was enjoying this if he wasn't so busy, well...enjoying it. 

All too soon, it seems, Joe pushes the last bit of scone past Patrick's lips, and they've run out of food. That's okay—Patrick is almost to point where he'd need to stop anyway. Actually, he doesn't even realize exactly how much he's had until he has to stand up, and it hits him that he's just demolished a ridiculous amount of food, even considering the odd circumstances of this particular situation. 

"I think it's time to go home," Pete says, wrapping an arm around Patrick, and again purposefully poising it around his belly, now stuffed full of assorted fair foods and desserts. Patrick has to shake his boyfriend off so he can pull his shirt down over it, but even then it only stays for a couple seconds before sliding back up. 

"Yeah," he mutters in response to Pete's earlier statement. "Yeah, I think it is."

The walk out of the fair and to the car is mostly a blur—Patrick is too tired and fucking _blissed out_ to notice much other than his boyfriends' arms wrapped around him and the undeniable weight in his stomach. The silence is interspersed with a few more straggling mutters of _you did so good, so good_ , and Patrick lets that lull him into a weird sort of walking daydream. He's blissfully looking forward to getting home and just falling into bed, inevitably being loved and comforted by his boyfriends in as many ways as they can manage. 

Patrick is pulled from his thoughts when they reach the car, and Pete turns Patrick's head towards his and steals a quick kiss. 

"Did you have fun?" Joe asks from Patrick's other side, leaning in to give Patrick a quick peck on the cheek. 

"Mmhm," Patrick agrees quietly, nodding. "I don't know how you guys managed it."

"Hm?" Pete asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

"I usually hate the fair," Patrick answers vaguely, chuckling as he adds, "But this was the most fun I've ever had."


End file.
